


What's a Little Kiss Between Friends?

by GoodJanet



Category: Actor RPF, Feud (TV 2017)
Genre: 5 Times, Banter, Drinking, F/F, Fights, Kissing, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 23:34:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10729587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodJanet/pseuds/GoodJanet
Summary: 5 times Bette tried to kiss Joan & 1 time Joan let her.





	What's a Little Kiss Between Friends?

{1}

“Oh, come on, Lucille. Where’s your sense of adventure? I just can’t believe an old flapper like you has never kissed a woman before.”

Bette grins with an air of confidence few others could ever muster as she cornered Joan in her chair, a hand wrapped around each arm. She brings the cigarette to her lips and takes a puff while Joan looks on, apparently scandalized. Righteous anger bubbles below the surface before quickly being pressed back down into something more controlled.

“As you’ve obviously only come here to insult me, I’ll make it clear to you right now that I am uninterested in these games you insist on playing with me. I want no part of it. You may leave my dressing room now.”

Joan nods politely towards the door, but her patience and calm is merely an act. Bette stands and puffs again. There’s a moment of hesitation where Bette weighs whether to try to be more persuasive, but she decides against it.

“Alright, fine. Have it your way.”

She stamps out the butt of the cigarette in a crystal ashtray.

In two strides, Bette’s at her trailer door, and Joan has already turned primly back to the mirror to touch up her lipstick. Her hand is on the knob when she stops and turns around once more.

“You know, if you’re ever looking for a good time and want to put this nonsense behind us, you know where I am.”

Joan looks at her in the mirror. There’s something in her eyes that almost makes Bette think she’s going to change her mind, but Joan quickly puts her mask back into place.

“I’ll see you on set, Bette.”

 

{2}

“Joan? It’s Bette. I’d like to invite you over for a nice drink. I think we both deserve after today. What do you say?”

Bette can hear the muffled sound of ice clinking against a glass through the receiver as Joan finishes her sip.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Oh, come on. It’s terribly depressing to drink alone. Let’s drink alone together, shall we?”

“Well…”

Joan gives a soft sigh, and Bette wonders if she pushed too hard. Maybe Joan was going to refuse her outright.

“Well, alright. One drink. I’ll bring a plate over with me and make it a proper party.”

Bette smiles and lights a cigarette, phone lodged between her ear and her shoulder.

“Good! I’ll expect you over shortly then. Perhaps tonight will be salvageable after all. Lucille, I could kiss you.”

“Bette.”

“Alright, alright. I promise to be good. I’ll see you soon.”

Bette hangs up her phone before either of them can say another word, worried about feuding with her costar away once more.

 

{3}

“Couldn’t you just _scream_ when all the tabloids can seem to talk about is what we wearing? All audiences have seen is the trailer. As though our acting was merely a vehicle to show off our clothes.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Joan muses, hands busy with more of her knitting. “It’s flattering to be told one looks lovely on-screen.”

Bette tosses the paper aside, huffs, and lights a fresh cigarette. She reclines back in her set chair, waiting for Bob to call them on while the designers rushed about, putting props in their proper places. She was in full Baby Jane make-up.

“Must be nice,” she muses.

“Oh, stop it,” Joan admonishes. She loops the yarn around her needle, eyes never leaving her work. “Don’t let this get to your head, but you’re a very lovely girl.”

Bette laughs.

“ _Please_ , please, Lucille. You’re the only who can be straight with me in this entire world. You don’t need to coddle me. I can take it.”

Joan throws her a half smile as she keeps working.

“You’re not ugly, Bette.”

Bette pulls her cigarette away.

“You know, Joanie, you’re so good at what you do, I could almost believe you.”

Just then, Bob calls them onto set. Bette stands and watches as Joan carefully rises, patting her hair and dress to ensure everything was in its proper place. The lights overhead catch on her jewelry, making her shine like a beacon. Bette moves before she can talk herself out of it. She pecks a kiss on Joan’s cheek.

Joan’s eyes widen as she freezes in surprise.

“Thank you,” Bette says, and Joan’s face softens a bit.

“Where are Davis and Crawford!?” Bob bellows.

The two scurry onto set before either can say another word.

 

{4}

“Will someone help her off set? Jesus Christ!” Bob shouted.

Joan was drunk, but it was fortunate enough for all of them that they had wrapped for the day. Obviously the strain of booze and the unbearable heat of Louisiana in the summertime had taken its toll on the aging actress.

“Come on, Lucille. Let’s go.”

Bette throws her arm around her costar’s waist.

“Are we done for the day?” Joan asks.

Her eyes are soft and shining with drink, and her breath reeks of the vodka she keeps in her flask. Bette tugs her in the direction of her trailer and interns and designers scurry out of the way.

“Yes, and god, you’re heavy. Do your feet still work?”

“Oh, shut up. I can walk just fine on my own.”

Joan pushes her away and wobbles in her heels before catching herself.

“You can barely stand,” Bette counters, arms folded.

“I don’t need your pity,” Joan says.

Joan takes a deep breath and begins making her way to her trailer on her own. Bette trails behind her, half hoping she made it to Mamacita in one piece. The other half hoped to get the chance to see her fall right on her ass as she made her way over the uneven field that lead to her trailer.

They’re almost there when Joan stumbles, and Bette catches her arm because the woman is goddamn _infuriating_ , but it’s the right thing to do.

“Jesus Christ, let me help you inside before you make a fool of yourself.”

Joan yanks her arm out of her grasp and smooths an errant lock of hair back into place. Joan turns on her.

“Oh no. You’re not coming in there with me. I know what kind of,”—here she pauses for effect—“ _deviant_ behavior you’re interested in. I’ve made that mistake before, and I’m certainly not going to make it with you.”

Bette’s eyes widen at the barb, and she swallows over the lump forming in her throat.

“You’re a bitch,” Bette says.

“Ditto,” Joan bites.

Joan’s trailer door slams in her face before she can formulate a reply. Red-faced, Bette retreats into her own. Hands shaking, Bette pours herself a drink.

 

{5}

“I’m sorry,” Bette says.

“For what?” Joan asks.

Bette sighs. The woman was going to make this difficult, wasn’t she? Of course she was. Who was she trying to kid? Alright. She could eat humble pie as well as the next gal.

“For making you uncomfortable onset.”

Joan looks as though she’s thinking it over, and Bette indulges her. She’s the one who’s coming to apologize after all. She’d probably do the same if the positions were reversed, though she can’t imagine Joan ever coming out and giving her a straight apology for anything that’s transpired between them over the last few months.

After a pause, Joan says, “I forgive you.”

Bette nods once.

“Good. Let’s put this all behind us and finish up this picture the right way.”

Joan smiles primly.

“Let’s do just that.”

 

{+1}

The day they wrap is a joyous one, and everyone is in a good mood. There’s already been Oscar talk, and Bette seeks out Joan to congratulate her on a job well done.

“We did it, kid! It’s in the can!” Bette says.

She hands a brimming glass of something strong to Joan, who happily takes it. Joan raises her glass.

“To a beautiful picture.”

Bette clinks her glass against Joan’s.

“To even more beautiful costars,” Bette says.

Joan laughs a bit before taking a drink. Joan grimaces before making a refreshed “ahhhh” sound.

“Atta, girl, Lucille. This stuff can put hair on your chest,” Bette jokes.

“What’s in this?” Joan asks.

Bette takes a swig. God, is it strong!

“Who can say? It’s Bob’s creation. I think he made it with the intention of getting everyone blotto as quickly as possible.”

“At least he did something right,” Joan says.

Bette smiles.

“My, my. Joan Crawford made a joke. What’s the occasion?”

“We’re celebrating, aren’t we? I don’t mind letting loose at a party. That’s the whole point, isn’t it?”

“You’re absolutely right.”

They clink glasses again in agreement, and Joan takes another drink. Bette follows and finds that it doesn’t burn as much on the third swallow.

“Isn’t this nice, Joanie? What a way to end a picture. I’ve got to ask Bob for his recipe.”

Joan puts a cigarette between her lips and nods as she lights it. Smoke billows forth, and Bette gets a sudden craving.

“Give me one. I haven’t got my purse on me.”

“You’ll think I’m lying, but this is my last one.”

“We can share.”

“Can we?” Joan asks.

Joan smirks and blows smoke in Bette’s direction.

“Come on. Just a taste. Don’t make me walk all the back to my trailer for one measly cigarette.”

Joan relents. She steps closer to Bette and hands it off to her. Bette notes the bright red lipstick stain on the filter. She takes a long drag and holds in the smoke for a moment before letting it stream out of her mouth and nostrils.

“Christ, that’s good. It must be like what kissing you would feel like.”

“Bette.”

“I know, I know,” Bette rushes to say. She hands the cigarette back to Joan. “Me and my mouth, right? Don’t be angry with me, Lucille. I didn’t mean to spoil the fun.”

When Joan doesn’t explode or storm off, Bette is surprised. She thinks she might have to apologize again, just to keep things cordial once more, but before she can open her mouth to speak, her lips are occupied with a different task altogether.

She lets out a small squeak of surprise before softening into the kiss. 

Joan doesn’t try to touch her anywhere else. One hand holds her glass at one side and her other holds her smoldering cigarette on the other. There’s a small gap between them as their lips slide together, and Bette’s fingertips brush Joan’s waist, wanting to rest there, but unsure whether the touch would break this spell.

Slowly, Joan pulls away, and Bette opens her eyes, unaware that she had closed them.

“Christ,” Bette breathes, eyes wide

Joan looks pretty proud of herself, but Bette can’t fault her. She feels unsteady all of a sudden, and she’s sure it has nothing whatsoever to do with Bob’s concoction.

“You were right, you know,” Joan finally says.

“About what?”

What would she possibly be talking about?

Joan pulls a small compact from her purse and checks her lipstick for smudges. She uses a tissue to wipe at her lower lip. She pulls out a golden tube and reapplies to her bottom lip.

“About what, Lucille?” Bette repeats, still quite thunderstruck.

“Yes, I was a flapper, and yes, I’ve kissed women before.”

“Jesus.”

“Well, what’s a little kiss between friends? And what better way was there to make a friend in the twenties?” A smile plays at the edges of Joan’s lips. “So pick your jaw up off the floor and clean yourself up. There’s bound to be photographers who will want to photograph us together looking pretty at the wrap party.”

With that said, Joan strides off. Bette watches her walk back into the crowd of the cast and crew, who welcomes her warmly into their fold. 

_Maybe working on this picture wasn’t so terrible after all,_ Bette muses.

Her lips tingle.

She wishes she had a cigarette.


End file.
